


Debt

by checkthemargins



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 05:41:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/checkthemargins/pseuds/checkthemargins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick really misses Harry. Harry really misses Nick. Louis's mostly just sick of the whinging.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Debt

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I should probably just blanket state that any fic of mine is going to have a metric ton of Louis in it. :) This takes place October of 2012. Also sap by the truck loads. For dear RL friend who would rather not be named who asked for one last Stymshaw getting together fic from me; title applies to you too.
> 
>  **Warnings:** very little substance, pining, unrequited Louis/Liam though may I point out that there will likely be a follow up fic about LiLo being made for each other
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own this band, or the people in it, or anything at all having to do with it. This is just for kicks. No harm intended.

**Debt**

"'Ello ello,," Nick drawls into the microphone. "Good mornin', good mornin'. It's a _beautiful_ Friday morning here on the Radio 1 Breakfast Show."

"It's pouring rain outside," says Fiona, gesturing grumpily at Tina, who just gave the weather report.

"But we're all looking very fit this morning, aren't we? Matt Fincham you look dashing."

"Sure thanks, you too," Fincham says.

Nick laughs, because it took him three tries to get his jeans on the right way 'round this morning, and he couldn't be arsed to put his contacts in so he's wearing his glasses, and his jumper is actually very wrinkled. One of the perks of working on radio though, he supposes. He taps at his phone, but it's woefully text free.

"And miss Fiona, and Tina, you both look ravishing."

"I _feel_ ravishing," says Fiona. Mostly she looks very wet from the rain. Nick grins toothily at her. "How is everyone this morning, then, apart from beautiful? Ready for the weekend? Fincham? You know I think I'm actually going to have an _in_ weekend, as it were."

"That's not like you," Fincham says. "Feeling all right? Do you have a fever?"

"Possibly, possibly. Just feeling like a relaxing weekend, is all. I don't go out _every_ night, Matt Fincham."

"And you never come in hungover of a Monday morning, either."

Nick rolls his eyes, though his audience can't see, and Fincham snickers. He queues up the next song, and while it plays he updates his Twitter ( _#relaxingweekend_ ), and just as he finishes a text comes in. He grins, shoulders seizing up a bit, and quickly taps over to his messages, but it just says _hav a nap for me this wknd_ and Nick feels a bit bittersweet. At least he got a text, he figures. At least he's _thinking_ about him, and waking up early enough to listen. It takes a lot of will power to not respond with an invitation to join him. It's stupid, really, how much Nick misses him. Harry's _busy_. Nick knows that. It's just a bit weird lately,is all, and if the way Harry's been crawling all over his band mates in interviews is making Nick's chest hurt well, he's just being ridiculous. _Harry_ is ridiculous.

He'd sort of like to break out his nineties alternative playlist and croon along with Fiona Apple and K's Choice about loss and being misunderstood. Instead he plays Ke$ha and Rita Ora like a good boy and is witty and charming and magnificent. And then he goes home and takes a sorrowful nap.

 

 

"Come for drinks," says Aimee that night.

Nick's sitting on her bathroom counter, watching her put her make up on. She looks very pretty, in a short, twirly sort of dress. Nick rubs at his eyes and kicks his heels obnoxiously against the cabinet.

"I don't want to," he says petulantly. He's in a terrible mood. He feels rundown and strangely exhausted, though he's been getting plenty of sleep. On weeknights, anyway. "I'm in a shitty mood, I wouldn't be good company."

"Darling, you've been in a shitty mood for _weeks_."

Nick opens his mouth to protest, but it's true, so he sticks his tongue out at her instead and nudges a little compact of sparkly purple eyes hadow closer and closer to the edge of the counter. Aimee grabs it before it falls and gives him a very stern look. "Don't be a brat. Everyone's got used to you being a pain lately, Grimmy. They're your friends too. They miss you."

That makes something hot and painful tighten up in Nick's chest. He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth and gnaws on it. He hasn't seen Henry in weeks, it's true, and Halloween is coming up and he has no plans yet, which is just unheard of. He clears his throat, finally, and says, "All right, fine."

Aimee beams at him and kisses his cheek, her lip gloss sticky. "Good. Now go change into something you can wear out of the house."

Nick gives her a very offended look—he looks absolutely fantastic in his trackies and Muppet Babies t-shirt, thank you—but she shoves him out the door as soon as he slides off the counter and shuts it in his face.

They end up at a club. He doesn't know which one, but it's big and loud and most of his closest friends are here. He spends an eternal half hour trying not to ruin everyone else's good time, but then a mashup of One Direction songs starts to play and he starts doing shots with Pixie instead. Thirty minutes later, he's nearly in tears, clinging at Henry and Alexa in turns and wailing.

"I'm bereft!" he shouts. "Bereft I say!"

"I'm sure you're over-analyzing," Henry says, sounding bored. "He's very busy."

" _You're_ very busy," Nick shoots back. "It's just. It's just. We haven't been _talking_ as much, is the thing. The thing is that we've just barely spoken in the last few weeks, do you see?"

"You should stop bringing him for drinks," Alexa tells Aimee, who just looks solemn.

"He's our friend and he needs us."

" I just wish I knew what was going on, is all," Nick carries on. "He used to bring me lunch at the studio, remember? Remember? And now he's...he's off—"

"Being a pop star?"

"Being _gone_ , and—"

"They're promoting a new album, Grimmy," says Katie in a very reasonable tone from across the table.

Nick makes a quiet, wounded sound and looks sadly at his empty shot glass. "I just miss him, is all."

"Aw, Nick," Alexa says.

He flails a hand at her, and then stands up. "More shots!" he declares, smiling beatifically, and staggers over to the bar. He's looking straight forward, so he doesn't see the small person standing in front of him at the bar until he quite literally runs into him.

The small person, as it turns out, is Louis Tomlinson. He looks. Well, cute, as he usually does. And sort of inconspicuous, which he usually does _not_. He's wearing a maroon t-shirt and tight jeans and a beanie over his soft-looking fringe, and he's holding two empty pint glasses. He just barely reaches Nick's chin, so Nick has to crane his neck to look down at him since they're pressed so close together by the crowd. Nick is very, very drunk.

"Hello!" he says, very loudly. "Erm."

Louis tilts his head curiously. At the very least he looks as startled by Nick's sudden presence as Nick is by his. "Grimshaw," he says.

"I'm not thinking about Harry," Nick says at once, as though Louis just called him out. The look on Louis's face is exactly the one Nick pictures Draco Malfoy wears most of the time.

"All right," says Louis slowly, brow furrowing.

"I'm just fine," Nick sniffs. He gives Louis a searching look. "Cold grey eyes, just like Malfoy."

"My eyes are blue," Louis says.

"Preposterous. It doesn't matter. I've not thought about Harry even once in weeks."

"...Potter?"

" _Styles!_ " Nick shouts. There are people looking at them now, but Nick doesn't care. Quite likes it, actually. It always makes him tetchy when he's not the center of attention. He bites his bottom lip. Louis's eyes are a bit wide now. Nick waves a hand at him and ends up accidentally smacking them both in the face, because they're stood so close. "How is he?" he asks helplessly.

"Harry?"

" _Yes!_ " Nick says, exasperated. "God you're not really very bright, are you?"

Louis's eyes narrow, and Nick almost apologizes, because now he'll _never_ get an answer, but Louis just twists to put both pint glasses on the bar and gesture to the bartender, who smiles and takes them to refill. Nick wonders who he's here with, and looks around over his head with a sort of suffocating hope that he'll see wild curls and a lanky body somewhere nearby.

"He's not here," Louis tells him. "And he's all right. Tired. We've been working a lot."

"Why isn't he here?"

"I'm not his keeper, mate. Here, give me your phone."

"Why?" Nick asks, but does. Louis nabs it and taps in Nick's password—How does he possibly know Nick's password?—and starts scrolling through Nick's things. Nick lets him, feeling wistful and maudlin. When Louis's pints come back, Nick takes one of them. Louis quirks one elegant eyebrow, but doesn't protest.

"I'm putting my number in, mostly 'cause I'd like to know your reaction to all this once you're sober."

"I'm not drunk!" Nick lies.

"I assume you're here with people?" Louis says. Nick tries to take a step back toward his table as he gestures and nearly falls over. Louis catches him, which is funny, because Louis is _so little_. Nick tells him so, giggling helplessly.

"Running into you is just a right treat," Louis says dryly, tucked under Nick's arm and hauling him upright. Nick pushes his face into Louis's beanie and blows a raspberry. It just ends in him getting knit fibers on his tongue. He makes a face.

"I need more shots."

"Mmhm," says Louis. They're moving now. Nick still has his pint, though it's significantly emptier than it was just a minute ago. He's not sure if it's all spilt out of it he's had that much to drink. He makes a thoughtful noise and downs the rest of it, ignoring Louis swearing as they stumble across the floor.

"I believe this is yours," Louis tells Nick's table at large once they make it there. It seems to take no time at all, but Louis's got sweat on his forehead. Nick touches it, and Louis bats his hand away and shoves him into an empty chair. Nick falls with a thump, bony arse throbbing in protest.

"Oh!" says Aimee, a bit awkwardly. Nick thinks that they've met, but he's not entirely sure. Louis doesn't often tag along with Harry when they hang out. "Yes, sorry. Did he do something?"

"He _said_ plenty," Louis says, smirking. "Anyway, I'm off. Make him drink some water, yeah?"

"Thanks Louis," Aimee says, smiling. Nick turns to look at Louis, who's already turned away and is disappearing back into the crowd.

"Pbttttttt!" he says, tongue buzzing against his lips, and Alexa rolls her eyes very obviously and prods Nick in the side.

"Keeping your enemies close, are you?"

"He was at the bar!" Nick shouts. "He bought me a pint."

"What a gentleman."

"Yeah," Nick says, and then sighs, looking longingly into the distance. "I wonder what Hazza's doing."

" _Ugh_ ," says Pixie, and she shoves more shots in Nick's direction. Nick smiles at her—she always has known him very best—and they all toast to Harry, and then to Nick himself, and then to Henry, and then to Draco Malfoy, and then to the Breakfast Show, and then to Nick again. Nick _loves_ being the center of attention, even when he's feeling sad.

"Chin up, mate," Henry tells him, patting his face. Henry is very drunk now too. His fingers are _freezing_. Nick bites at them, giggling. Henry prods at his cheek. "No one likes a negative Nancy!"

It's _hilarious_. Nick laughs so hard he falls out of his chair, and then he lies on the disgusting club ground and looks up at the strobe lights, smiling ridiculously.

Harry would've liked the joke, he thinks, and falls right to sleep.

He wakes up with possibly the worst hangover he's ever had the next morning, and when he drags himself out of the bathroom after throwing up for half an hour, it's to find that he apparently spent quite a few hours last night texting Louis Tomlinson about missing Harry. It's only mildly better than having texted all of these things to Harry himself. He scrolls through them with growing horror.

At the end, and apparently sent just an hour ago, is Louis's single response: _how're you feeling this morning, dove?_

"Don't tell him," Nick says, before he even realizes that he's called Louis at all.

"He's my best mate," Louis says. He sounds _unbelievably_ smug.

"Louis, please, really. Just. I was drunk."

"I like the sound of you begging, a bit. Is that kinky?"

"Fuck off, c'mon now."

"You know your massive crush on him isn't exactly a secret, right? "

"I do _not_ have a—"

"I mean Hazza's oblivious, of course, because he's Hazza, but the rest of the entire world knows. You're the least subtle person I've ever met."

Nick grits his teeth. "Look, you insufferable little twat, what's it going to take to keep this all between us?"

"I can understand what he sees in you," Louis drawls, sarcasm so thick Nick can feel it through the phone line, "you're so very charming."

" _Tomlinson_."

"Christ, fine, I'm not going to say anything. Honestly, Grimshaw, if nothing else you should know by now that I'm far more invested in keeping you out of his trousers than helping you into them."

" _Ugh_. You're such a—He's my _friend_ and I—"

"Miss him. I know. You told me 'bout a thousand times. Anyway, I've got rehearsal, because I'm in a boy band and much more rich and famous than you'll ever be."

He rings off, and Nick sighs heavily and drops his mobile, falling face first into his pillow. He doesn't trust Louis as far as he can throw him, has barely spoken to him and they have an intense mutual dislike for one another. The chances of him _not_ telling Harry what an arse Nick's made out of himself are slim to nil. It's going to be a long, agonizing rest of his life waiting for the other shoe to drop.

 

 

Harry's _sleepy_ , and it's _cold_ outside. His hair is still wet from his shower and he's running at least fifteen minutes late, but when he walks into the studio it's completely empty save for Louis, who's just pocketing his phone. Harry smiles lazily and Louis pats the seat next to him and opens his arms. Harry drops down onto the lumpy sofa and burrows into his side. Louis is _always_ warm, and he smells like subtle cologne and fancy shampoo. Harry bites at his hair and then tucks his head into his neck, and Louis drops a kiss onto the top of his head.

"Sleepy, babe?"

"Mmph," says Harry. Louis's hand is in his hair now, fingers massaging at his scalp, and Harry's more liquid than solid from it. He'd be purring if he could.

"Mopey," says Louis, and Harry frowns and bites his neck, because he's _not_ mopey, he's just _tired_ , but Louis keeps talking before Harry can protest anymore. "I ran into your twatty DJ last night."

Harry stills, blinking his eyes open. "Nick?"

"The one and only," Louis says with a derisive snort. Harry bites his tongue on about a thousand questions, because Nick and Louis can hardly bear each other even for Harry's sake. In fact they last time they saw each other at the after party of the iTunes Festival, they got into a huge, drunken screaming match that neither of them even remembers now.

"Oh," he says.

"You haven't been hanging around with him and the rest of your hipster friends lately."

Harry sighs quietly and sits up, pushing his fingers through his hair. Louis's giving him a very casual look that Harry knows nonetheless means that he's worried, eyebrows positioned to "are you okay?" Harry smiles just for him.

"Yeah, it's. We've been busy, y'know? And he's been sort of…"

"Finish your sentences, please," Louis sing-songs, and Harry prods him sharply in the belly.

"He's just been kind of like, distant. I don't know. I used to be able to just like, turn up, but we've been traveling so much and it feels different now."

It's not like it was before. It feels different. He and Nick still text random things every day but Nick's seemed so distracted the past month, and Harry and the boys have been traveling so much and working so much to promote the new album that he's hardly had time to talk to anyone at all, even the four best mates he's been with nearly twenty four/seven. And honestly Harry's been a bit preoccupied with other things. Label things. Bloody publicity stunt things.

"Haz," Louis says, so kindly. Harry tucks back into his side.

"I don't want to do this Taylor Swift thing. We don't even know each other and I have to fly to the States _alone_ and the contract is for like five _months_ , Lou and I don't wanna do it."

He sounds like a spoilt child, but he doesn't even care. He can't even imagine the look Nick might give him if he told him about it, how disappointed he'd be that Harry's playing the game. That's not really fair, Nick would probably be lovely about it, and it's not that Harry doesn't _know_ that the industry he's in runs on this sort of thing. But it _sucks_.

"Hazzabear," Louis coos obnoxiously, and wraps him into a hug. Harry mumbles grumpily and Louis kisses his head. "I'm sorry. We all tried to kind of, like, protect you from it, y'know?"

Harry nods against Louis's cheek. "I know."

"We love you, and she's perfectly nice, I hear. And we'll all be there for you. I'm sure even your gross hipsters too."

Harry laughs and kisses Louis's cheek, sitting up again so he can see his face. "So how'd he look, then?"

"Like a twat," Louis answers. "A completely pissed twat. He ran into me at the bar and then went off on some rant about Harry Potter."

Harry fights very hard not to grin and loses. "Harry Potter?"

"Yeah. He decided I looked like Draco Malfoy. I don't know, maybe he's reading the books or something. Anyway, he was out with a bunch of people."

Harry frowns. "Oh. I thought. I mean on his show he said he was just going to stay in this weekend."

"Don't you start," Louis says at once, and prods Harry sharply in the ribs ("Ow," says Harry). "Call him and demand to know why you weren't invited. And then tell him I said he's a twat."

Harry grins, and then laughs, and Louis smiles his crinkly-eyed smile and opens his mouth to say something, but the door opens down the hall and they both look around. It's Liam, and he's on the phone. He waves and smiles at them as he walks by the doorway, and the expression on his face is soft. He's saying, "I know, I know. I just. I really miss you too."

He disappears through to the kitchen, and Harry bites his lip and looks at Louis, who's staring blank faced at the doorway where Liam just passed. Harry feels a swell of sympathy rise up in his chest and he hooks an arm around Louis's shoulders.

"Maybe I should have a party, huh?" he says, determined to distract. Louis turns to look at him with a blinding smile and Harry hugs him tighter. "Invite Nick. The two of you can shout at each other a lot."

"I hate him and I hope he slips on ice and falls on his stupid _face_."

Harry nuzzles into Louis's hair, grinning. Niall and Zayn arrive a few seconds later. Niall is wide awake and rather full of energy. He saunters over, says, "Oh, are we having a cuddle?" and blankets Louis's other side. Louis laughs and gets an arm around him. Zayn drops onto Harry's other side and grumbles, only half awake, hooking two fingers in one of Harry's belt loops. He starts snoring within seconds. Liam joins them a few minutes later, face lighting up in a smile at the sight of them, and they all curl up together on the lumpy, too-small studio sofa.

At least until Louis pulls out a strand of Liam's arm hair, and then flicks it at Niall, who gives a sharp battle cry and tackles Louis off the couch. They jar Zayn, who wakes up and gives an angry hiss like a cat and joins the fray. Harry tucks his feet up onto the sofa to keep out of the way once Liam's pulled in too. The sight of his boys tussling isn't exactly new, so he pulls his mobile out of his pocket and looks at it thoughtfully.

"Truce, _truce!_ " Louis is squalling, but no one's listening. Louis's a filthy cheater and they all know it. Harry skirts around them and out into the hallway and calls Nick before he loses his nerve. It's quite early for a Saturday morning, but Louis's right. If Nick's going to go off with all their friends without him, he deserves to be woken up by too early phone calls.

"I'm sorry," says Nick by way of hello. "Is this the ever elusive Harry Styles ringing? I was sure you'd forgot all about little ol' me."

"Oh shut it," Harry says, already smiling. "You've not exactly been calling me up to chat either, you know."

" _I_ am not an international pop star."

Harry snorts. "Lou said he ran into you last night at a club. I probably should've been invited."

"By Tomlinson?"

"No, idiot, by you. I haven't seen you in ages."

"Have you been pining away for me, Harold?"

Harry shakes his head, laughing. Nick sounds good, his voice a bit rough the way it gets when he's hung over, but good, and it's easy to talk to him. Harry's been worried. "I've maybe missed you a bit," he says honestly.

Nick's quiet for a second, and then he says, "Shit, Harry, you can't just go all sentimental on me. Makes me well up."

"Shut up. Are you really going to just stay in this weekend?"

"Yes," Nick says. "You should come over, though. We'll do dinner. Catch up. You've been traipsing all over the globe."

"I get out of rehearsal at nine," says Harry, relieved. "Be there 'round ten?"

"Bring wine," Nick says.

Paul, who must've come through the back door of the studio, pokes his head out into the hall and gives Harry a _look_ , tapping his watch. Harry smiles and nods, and waits for him to duck back inside before he says, "I've got to go."

"Of course you do. Such a busy boy."

" _Bye_ , Nicholas."

"Ta, love," Nick answers, and Harry can _hear_ his smile.

When he hangs up, his heart is racing, and he can feel his dimples pushing into his cheeks.

"So what are _you_ doing tonight?" Louis asks him later, after they've spent hours and hour recording touch ups and Harry's voice is tired. He's excited, jittery. The album drops in three weeks and it's going to be _huge_. He's so fucking proud of them. He slings an arm around Louis's little shoulders and pulls him into a hug.

"I'm going 'round to Nick's," he says. Louis gives him a long-suffering, amused sort of look and Harry blushes, tugs on Louis's hair until he yelps and then grins at him. "You?"

Liam and I are going to play laser tag, I think. Niall's hanging with Bressie, and Zayn and Perrie are probably going to spend the night staring into each other's eyes and arguing over who loves who more."

"Laser tag, really?"

"You're just jealous because you're probably going to spend the night listening to horrible music and drowning in Grimshaw's elitism," Louis sniffs. Harry shoves him, but catches him before he can topple over and smacks a kiss to his cheek. Louis grins up at him. "You rode in with Andy, yeah?"

"Mm hm," Harry says. He didn't feel like driving this morning, and his flat is on Andy's way to the studio. It always makes it a bit easier getting out of the car when he's got security with him, anyway.

"Take my car, will you? Andy's taking me and Li. Apparently we can't be trusted on our own."

He passes Harry the keys to his Range Rover. Harry quirks an eyebrow as he takes them. "There's no apparently about it, Lou. You and Liam absolutely can't be trusted on your own. You'd both end up in Siberia on some ridiculous whim."

"I beg your pardon! None of our whims are ridiculous."

Harry just laughs, and then laughs harder at Louis's disgruntled look, and then even harder at the two fingers Louis resolutely shoves in his face. " _Louis_ ," he gasps.

"Are you quite finished? Don't crash my car. And don't let Grimshaw in it, he'll cover it in pretentious germs and it'll take me weeks to get the stench out."

"He always smells very nice," Harry argues without thinking first, and then squinches his face up at the look Louis gives him.

"Shut up," says Harry.

" _Hazza_."

"Go away!" Harry shoves him, and Louis falls back, cackling, only to be caught by a well-placed Liam. He grips Louis's by the waist to help steady him. He's already in his coat, and Andy is waiting by the door, talking to Paul. Louis flops dead weight against Liam, who oofs quietly and gets both arms around his middle. Harry shakes his head, grinning.

"Harry's being dreadful to me," Louis says mournfully.

"I'm sure he is," Liam says in a very soothing voice, rubbing Louis's belly. "Did you do something to deserve it?"

Harry snickers, and Louis looks upside down at Liam, the top of his head pushing into Liam's chest. "How very dare you!"

"He was making fun of me. He absolutely deserved it."

Louis finally picks himself up, getting up onto his toes to sling an arm around Liam's shoulders. Behind them in the hallway, Niall is balanced precariously on his friend Bressie's shoulders. They're going to fuck around in the studio, Harry figures, and bond over being guitarists and Irish and stuff. And probably snog a lot too. Harry's only met Bressie a handful of times but every single one of them started with Harry walking in on them snogging.

Louis puts his nose in the air. "Pointing out that you're stupidly in love with Nick Grimshaw isn't mak—"

"I'm not in love with him!!" Harry says, heat rushing to his cheeks. Louis raises an incredulous eyebrow, Zayn—who's supposed to be asleep on the sofa—starts _laughing_ at him, and even Liam is trying very hard to keep a straight face. Harry shoves his hands in his pockets. "He's my _friend_."

"He's a friend whose dick you'd like to suck."

"Louis!" Liam scolds, and Louis smiles angelically and pushes his nose against Liam's cheek. Harry can't even seem to wrap his tongue around real words, so with a loud, overdramatic huff, he leaves them there. Louis is cooing something at Liam and Zayn is laughing, and in the hallway Bressie—approximately twice the size of Niall on all accounts and made up of solid muscle—is pressing Niall back into the wall and their mouths are fused together and they're making wet smacking kissing sounds. It's intrusive and Harry shouldn't be watching, but he does for a moment, and his mind takes him somewhere else, to a place where his back is to that wall and Nick is the one looming over him like that and he tastes like menthol and the butter rum candies he eats all the time.

It's not something Harry's thought of before. The boys tease him about his 'crush' all the time but he's never really got why. He thinks now, after spending weeks apart from him, after feeling this huge gaping awful void in his chest that's _missing_ him—he thinks he might understand.

He's a little shaky when he gets into Louis's car. When he turns on the ignition, Ellie Goulding is turned up to deafening singing about doomed love and Harry _jumps_ and turns it down, laughing sort of sadly. Louis's had a rough time of it lately. Being busy with work again will be good for him. Harry's hands are kind of sweaty, and he's _nervous_ , which is insane, because it's _Nick_. Nick who's seen him at his best and at his worst and who's held his hair back while he threw up after a night of binge drinking and who's become one of his best, best mates.

He doesn't even really mean to say anything when he gets there. But the first words out of his mouth when Nick opens the door are, "Is Aimee here?"

Nick blinks at him, and then looks affronted. " _No_. Really, if you just wanted to see _her_ I—"

Harry would normally grin and roll his eyes and shove him, instead he steps inside, closes the door, cups Nick's face in both hands and kisses him.

The sound Nick makes is _funny_ , this weird little bird squawk sound, but Harry will have time to laugh about it later. Nick's lips are soft and just a little chapped and they taste a bit like wine when Harry swipes his tongue along the bottom one. He pulls back, his whole body tingling, hair falling into one of his eyes and looks up at him. Nick's lips are still parted, his eyes wide.

"Whatever Tomlinson told you is a vicious lie," Nick says, voice higher pitched than normal.

Harry frowns, fingers pushing into the soft skin over Nick's cheekbones. "What?"

Nick is blinking a lot, but standing very still. Harry holds his breath when long fingers curl almost timidly into the front of his jumper. "He. He didn't tell you anything?"

"Just about some Harry Potter rant," Harry answer, confused.

"Oh, right," says Nick dazedly. "How embarrassing."

Harry steps in a bit closer, and Nick's hands both fall to his hips. They're warm through his jumper and jeans. Nick inhales in a shudder, and Harry says, "He was making fun of me. For…For having a crush on you. And he always does but I've been, like. I've been kind of moping about, I guess, because I've missed you."

" _Harry_ ," Nick says, weakly, like it's hurting him.

"No, really, and I just. I think he might be right. A bit. About. About me having a crush on you. And I just wanted to kiss you, once, before. Before it got so awkward and I think you should maybe give me a chance. To kiss you again."

Nick stares at him, and Harry's going to start bawling any second, is going to run out to Louis's car and drive for hours and then sob all over his mum or something because he's so positive that Nick is about to pat him on the head like a child and let him down easy. But then Nick tugs him in by his hips and breathes, "Jesus," across his mouth and kisses him. And it's…

Harry's good at this. Snogging is something he's well-practiced in and _good_ at, but being kissed by Nick is rather different than anyone he's kissed before. Nick is confident and demanding, slides his hand around to rest on the small of Harry's back and pulls him in closer, until they're pressed together all along their fronts. He presses his tongue into Harry's mouth and Harry opens right up for him, threads his fingers into Nick's hair and opens his mouth, drags the tip of his tongue alone the underside of Nick's.

"God," Nick murmurs once the kiss breaks, hand tight on Harry's hip, breathing heavy. Harry's heart is racing and his lips feel bruised and wet and are pulling into a smile. Nick pulls back to look at him like he's searching for something, and Harry leans in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth and his cheek and his jaw. He rubs his thumb over the nape of Nick's neck, pulls back to look him in the eye nervously.

"Say something, yeah?"

Nick wets his lips. He looks sort of shell shocked, but he's grinning. "Show me your ID again. Are you really eighteen?"

"Fuck you," Harry says, and Nick laughs against his mouth, kisses him again, and again, and _again_ , right there in the foyer and Harry's chest feels so full it might burst and this is just. It's a lot. It's so much. He wants more.

 

 

Nick wakes up Sunday morning with his thighs aching, a naked Harry Styles dead asleep in his bed, and a text from Louis Tomlinson that says: _if you hurt him theyll never find your body & you owe me so much you arsehole i will collect when you least expect it_

He sets his mobile back on the bedside table and curls up around the boy in his bed. Harry stirs and reaches back to pat at Nick's bare thigh. "S'okay? Phone buzz'n'?"

"Just your awful little twat of a friend being obnoxious."

Harry grins sleepily. "I like Louis," he says in a slow, thick voice. Nick hums, non-committal, and kisses his temple. Harry grins wider. "Like you, too."

Nick kicks him in the calf and bites his shoulder. "Go back to sleep, Hazza."

Harry obliges, sinking back into sleep so fast it's unfair, and Nick huffs a breath that ruffles Harry's curls and closes his eyes, smiling into the back of Harry's neck.

**END**


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